By G. Connor Salter
Editor’s Note: The following text has been reconstructed from three fragments. The first fragment was discovered in 1994 by the Earl of Manchester while his workers were excavating a privy. The final fragments were found in 1904, sewn inside a 13th-century copy of “The Year of Our Lord 1072 And All That,” a book attributed to Welsh bard Ioan the Omnivorous. This copy was found in a root cellar beneath Cambridge pub the Wilted Plow, by a student evading an impending aunt. Great care has been taken to reconstruct the poem and translate it from medieval Welsh to contemporary English.
Many and many a year ago,
When all the world was new.
Sir Pithlewick came to the land
Of mossy Galligrew.
For Pithlewick was a nobleman,
He owned a castle an’ shield.
And came he thence to Galligrew
To fight upon the field.
Sir Cabilman was also there,
And good Lord Shangk of Grimmin.
They came by ord’r of good King Mabil
To fight King Lagg of Burrin.
Oh, Lagg he was a bastard king,
A man with no real honor.
So Mabil came with his ten men
To break Lagg’s reign asunder.
And Lagg had twelve score men with him,
Fierce lads to make men tremble.
And Pithlewick said to himself,
“I fear we’re off to Krimble.”
(For you must know
Low Krimble is the land of ash and fire.
Where creatures of a filthsome breed
Will roast you ‘pon a pyre.
And there’s no rescue from the place
Of fire and despair.
You only go when you are dead,
And with no life to spare.)
So Mabil said unto his men,
“I know the odds are fearsome.
But remember when at Sibbilgrow,
We fought twelve trolls and then some?”
“We beat ‘em then, we’ll beat ‘em now,
I know we’re men of valor.
Come on, my men, press on to war,
Press on for truth and honor!”
And so the two bold forces met
A battle like no other.
And men who lived afar could hear
The shouts like fearsome thunder.
Oh, Sir Blaine swung his sword of steel
And Shank used well his spear.
Sir Cavilman looked quite a man
As he charged in without fear.
Brave Pithlewick could use his mace,
Sir Apeljin knew his arch’ry.
He stayed behind the minnow hill
And felled twelve knights from Glautry.
But Farfenderm of Nobleshift
Was not so blessed that morning.
He fell before the bastard’s ranks,
Laid on the ground a-groaning.
And Mabil cried aloud in pain,
“Oh Farfenderm, my brother!
The bastard’s gone and cut you down,
That filthy king of squalor!”
So met the kings for fatal duel,
Both trained, both strong, both fuming.
They circled like two fearsome cats,
Their gazes all-consuming.
Mabil for truth,
Fierce Lagg for pow’r,
Their blows, they rang
From glade to tow’r.
Few men could tell,
And none could say
Which man would claim
The wreath that day.
Then wily bastard showed his stripes,
Kicked Mabil in the phallus.
Sir Pithlewick declared aloud,
“Arise, our king is helpless!”
They charged in like a battr’ing ram
Slew all that came before them
And Lagg made haste, took to his horse
To reach his friends in Luthem.
But Pithlewick knew well his throw,
He sent his javelin flying.
It struck, went through Lagg like a knife,
Brought him to earth a-crying.
The horse ran off, left Lagg to die,
All lurching in his death throes.
The man who thought he’d be a king
Was only fit to feed crows.
The Knights took the King to St. Glibb’s,
The chapel of physicians.
After three days the king could rise
And walk without ministrations.
He summoned Pithlewick to him
And said, “My great defender!
Today we ride for my stronghold
To honor thee in splendor!”
The knight rode to Mabil’s estate
And feasted ‘til the morning.
Then Pithlewick declared, “Great Lord!
The birthdate of my wife Aisling!”
He returned home to Monotreme,
And faced a wife much furious.
She wouldn’t let him sleep for days
To treat a knight so injurious!